The viscount took the outstretched fingers and lifted them briefly to his lips.

'So too am I,' he replied, then, without another word, he turned and strode off, leaving the lady to make her way back to her carriage alone.

Chapter Five.

A gentleman is in peril of his life, and a lady of her soul.

Madame de Sange dressed with care for the masquerade at the noble residence of M. Charriere, choosing a gown of gold-coloured silk embellished with quantities of blond lace and clasping about her neck the magnificent de Sange diamonds which had remained in their case since her husband's demise. She completed her costume with a voluminous cloak of dark green and an elaborate gilded head-dress. Surveying her reflection in the mirror, Elinor allowed herself a smile: no one would recognize her faith, with nothing more than her mouth and chin visible beneath the head-dress she hardly knew herself! Elinor shivered, but it was not the anticipation of an enjoyable evening that caused her to tremble. Her sole purpose was to confront Julian Poyntz, and she foresaw little pleasure in the encounter.

The Charriere family was one of the very few in Paris that Philibert de Sange had deigned to recognize and his widow knew the house well. She moved confidently up the wide sweeping staircase to the ballroom, her nervousness gone now that she was so close to her goal. The room was already crowded, and very hot, and Elinor was glad to take a glass of champagne from a hovering servant. There was no sign of Poyntz, but she was not unduly worried: it was early yet. The dancing commenced and at once the ballroom seemed full of swirling, laughing couples. She watched them somewhat enviously, and took a second glass of champagne. An undignified collision between several of the dancers caused her to laugh out loud and a tall figure in a black domino immediately turned to stare at her. Unaware of this scrutiny, Elinor sipped at her glass, her foot tapping in time to the music.

'Your pardon, Madame, but it is against the rules of the house for any guest to merely observe the dancing,' remarked the gentleman in the black domino, removing her half-empty glass and setting it aside. Then, without waiting for a reply he led her onto the dance-floor. They were already dancing before Elinor had realized where she had heard his voice before.

'English manners, my Lord Davenham?'

He smiled, squeezing her hand, while through the slits of his mask his blue eyes glittered, causing her heart to pound in a most alarming way.

'I fear a hesitant approach would have met with a refusal.'

Since she could not make a denial, Elinor remained silent, allowing herself to enjoy the music and the dance. The viscount was a good dancer, expertly guiding his partner through the steps of the courante, avoiding collisions that were always a danger in such a crowded room. The atmosphere was exhilarating, and Elinor found herself in such harmony with her partner that she readily agreed to remain with him for the galliard, subduing her conscience with the thought that even if Julian Poyntz had arrived, it was still too early in the evening to approach him. The orchestra was playing a very lively tune, and many of the dancers whooped and shrieked as they whirled about the room, taking advantage of their disguises to abandon formality. Elinor and the viscount danced amongst them, twirling and skipping so fast that Elinor felt her senses reeling and when at last the music came to an end, she was obliged to lean against her partner for fear of losing her balance.

'Sweet heaven, my lord, I have not danced like that for many a year!' She laughed, allowing him to lead her from the floor.

'But you danced perfectly. I would have said you were used to dancing every night.'

'Flatterer!' She tapped his arm with her fan before unfurling it and vigorously fanning her glowing cheeks. Observing this, Lord Davenham led the lady towards an embrasure where the glass doors had been opened to allow a little air into the ballroom. Breaking away from her partner, Elinor stepped out onto the terrace, thankful to feel the cool night air upon her heated skin.

'I cannot think when I have enjoyed myself so much,' she remarked as the viscount came up beside her. 'When I set out tonight I had no anticipation that the evening would be so pleasant.' She turned to face him, smiling. 'Thank you, my lord.'

She saw the gleam of his teeth as he smiled back at her.

'I told you we should deal well together, did I not, Madame de Sange?'

Before Elinor could reply, he had removed his mask and bent his head to kiss her, locking her into a crushing embrace. Elinor's blood raced. For a few seconds she returned his kiss with equal fervour, pressing her body hard against him. Then reality swept back upon her and she struggled to push him away.

'No!' she freed herself and stepped back, her hands out before her to keep him away. 'That should not have happened!'

'Would you tell me you did not want me to kiss you?'

'Yes, no oh I wish you would go away!' Elinor pressed a kerchief to her lips with a trembling hand. 'It was the champagne and the dancing you took advantage of me!' His laughter made her angry and she stamped her foot at him. 'You are no gentleman, sir, to treat me thus!' her voice trembled as she fought to hold her tears.

The laughter died from his face and Davenham stared at her in amazement.

'By God, you are serious!'

Elinor drew a deep breath. With scarcely a tremor in her voice she replied: 'I have already told you sir, you waste your time with me. I enjoyed our dance, but I have no further use for you!' Looking up as she finished this speech, she trembled at the angry look in the viscount's eyes. For an instant she wondered if he might strike her, and in her heart she would not have blamed him, for her words had been insulting, calculated to repulse, but he made no move towards her. His lips had set into a thin line, and without another word he made her a stiff little bow, turned on his heel and strode back into the ballroom. As soon as he had gone Elinor felt the tears welling up, but she blinked them away, resolving not to give in to such weakness. Besides, she told herself sternly, she had not yet accomplished what she had set out to do she must put this silly incident out of her mind, for all her courage would be required for the task ahead.

When Julian Poyntz and the Duc du Bellay arrived at the Charriere residence, the promised masquerade was in full swing. Du Bellay had provided his guest with a grey domino and mask, and both gentlemen donned their disguises before entering the ballroom. Mr Poyntz, already mellowed by the duc's generous dinner, found the noise and excitement intoxicating and was soon swept up in the dancing from which he emerged some time later feeling very hot and not a little thirsty. There was no sign of du Bellay, so Poyntz set off alone in search of some refreshment, making his way to an adjoining salon where a magnificent supper had been laid out. The main passion of Mr Poyntz's life was food and he gazed rapturously upon the feast.

It was some time later that he reappeared in the ballroom, having sampled almost every dish and refilled his glass with more of his host's excellent wine. He stood gazing with a detached interest at the dancers until he became aware of a tall figure in a black domino standing but a short distance away. Poyntz recognized the gentleman, despite his disguise and, tossing off his wine, he bestirred himself to speak.

'Lord Davenham servant, sir.' He sketched a small bow. 'Thought I'd see you here. Dashed glad to be able to converse in English, too!'

'It was always my expressed intention to attend tonight.'

Hearing the cold tone, Mr Poyntz wondered who could be responsible for putting the viscount into such a black mood. He tried to dismiss Lord Davenham's obvious ill-humour with a nervous little laugh.

'Yes well, I've been thinking over the little matter we were talking of '

'Have you, perhaps, some information for me?'

'Perhaps, perhaps,' murmured Poyntz warily, 'but it has occurred to me that it might be safer to take up residence here in Paris and to say nothing.'

The viscount bowed, apparently unmoved.

'As you wish, sir, although I am informed that His Majesty's government would not be ah ungenerous to one who helped them in this matter. Also, one must remember,' - he paused to brush a speck of dust from one velvet sleeve - 'when a traitor falls, his accomplices are liable to fall with him.'

'Wait! I own I would be pleased to be out of it, after all these years,' muttered Poyntz, almost to himself. 'Oh very well!' he added decidedly. 'I will call upon you here tomorrow, my lord, with your permission?'

'Certainly, sir. I shall look forward to it.'

The viscount moved off and Mr Poyntz returned his attention to the dancing, where the excitement was now much more intense. A figure suddenly appeared beside him, a lady swathed in a large cloak of green and gold, with a gilded head-dress that concealed all of her hair and half her face, save for a dainty chin and a pair of cherry-red lips that now smiled invitingly. She pulled him into the whirl of dancers and Poyntz entered into the spirit of the occasion, gallantly leading his partner around the floor and performing the rigaudon as energetically as was possible for a man of his stature, but after a few minutes he drew her to one side, wheezing and panting from the exertion.

'A- a thousand apologies, madam, but I must rest not as young as I was!'

'It matters not, monsieur. Let us take a glass of wine together.'

He stared as the masked face, frowning. The lady's English was perfect, with scarcely a trace of accent.

'Have we not met before? I would swear I know your voice.'

'Oh, 'tis quite possible, m'sieur.' The lady's eyes glittered through the slits of her mask, a warm smile curving her red lips.

'Come then. Let us sit here while I try to discover your identity!' cried the gentleman gaily. He led his partner to a vacant sofa, provided two glasses of champagne and spent a very pleasant half-hour in dalliance with his mysterious partner.

Nothing could have exceeded the lady's amiability: She gently flattered him, laughing at his attempts to name her and ensuring that he was kept supplied with drink. The gentleman pushed his round, flushed face close to hers.

'Well, this I will say, madam! You're dam' - dashed good company, whoever you may be!' He stumbled over his words, but the hand gripping her knee was very sure.

She did not move away, and through the slits of her mask the green eyes were inviting.

'It will soon be time for the unmasking,' she said softly. 'A pity that it is so noisy here. Shall we find a quieter spot in which to declare ourselves?'

There was no mistaking the eagerness in the gentleman's voice as he agreed. The lady led the way out of the crowded ballroom and along a corridor to the wide staircase. By the time they reached the next floor the noise from the ballroom was but a distant murmur.

'You appear to know the house well, ma'am,' remarked Mr Poyntz as he followed her along another corridor.

'I have often stayed here with my husband.'

'I trust that gentleman will not disturb us tonight.' He gave an uneasy laugh.

'He need not concern you, sir. He is dead.'

She stopped at a door. Poyntz followed her into a large guest-bedchamber, handsomely appointed with gold hangings at the windows and around the large bed. A cheerful fire blazed merrily in the hearth and the lady stepped forward to light a taper from the flames, then she proceeded to light candles until the whole room was illuminated. Poyntz looked about him curiously.

'Your room, perhaps, madam?'

'I do not stay here tonight,' she said, untying her cloak. 'Doubtless it has been given over to some guest, but it will do for our purposes.'

He laughed, moving towards her.

'By Gad, lady, you are a cool one!' He reached out to pull her into his arms, his lips eagerly covering her mouth with hot kisses while one hand tried to remove the concealing head dress.

'Not yet, m'sieur!' she struggled to hold him off, 'someone may discover us. Let me lock the door.'

She went to the door and turned the key, afterwards slipping it into her pocket. Turning back she saw that the gentleman had removed his domino and mask.

'Will you now let me see your face, fair charmer?' he asked her.

She put up her hands to take off the head-dress, revealing her face and an abundance of thick auburn curls, gleaming in the candlelight. It was a few moments before Poyntz recognized her and his look of surprise when he did so was almost comical.

'Madame de Sange! This is indeed a pleasure I did not expect. At our last meeting you gave me no reason to think-'

'That night, Mr Poyntz, I was still in mourning.'

The gentleman laughed, and began hurriedly to unbutton his coat.

'Then, tonight, Madame, it is time to celebrate!'

She stepped close to him, assisting his fumbling efforts to remove his tight-fitting coat; then, as he struggled with the buttons of his florid waistcoat, she unbuckled the ornate dress-sword with her long, steady fingers. He glanced at her, his round face glowing with eager anticipation.

'In grey you were enchanting,' he told her rapturously, 'but now, with that glorious hair and such exquisite eyes, I vow I have never before seen such a combination!'

'Oh I think you have, Mr Poyntz.'

She stepped back and he found himself staring at the blade of his own dress sword, its point pressed lightly against the fleshy folds of skin beneath his chin. He tried to retreat, but found the way blocked by a heavy wooden writing table behind him.

'I this is dangerous funning, ma'am!' He tried to laugh.

'But I am deadly serious, Mr Poyntz. Please do not attempt to move or I shall be forced to pierce your throat. Put your hands behind you.'

The very calmness of her speech unnerved him and he did as she ordered.

'What what is this?'

'Do you not remember me?'

He began to shake his head, then remembered the steel at his throat.

'No, I cannot recall having seen you before, save at the Brire's soiree. Pray put down the sword and let us talk sensibly.'

The blade pressed deeper into his flesh and he feared that at any moment the point would puncture the skin. The lady's eyes were hard as stone as she watched him.

'Think back, Mr Poyntz. Think back to a winter's day in December, eight years ago.'

'Eight years!' he repeated in astonishment, 'how the devil can I recall '

The look on the lady's face made him break off and he said in a quieter tone, 'Well, let me think that would be 'forty-five. I seem to remember I spent most of that winter chasing over England Good God!'

She watched as astonishment and recognition crossed the gentleman's features and she smiled grimly.

'The - the girl at the inn?' he asked her incredulously, 'but you cannot be Thurleigh said you were dead! He told me that when he had recovered the ruby he dispatched you '

'I know nothing of that!' she cut him short impatiently.

A wary look came into Poyntz's eyes. He tried to move, but the steel at his throat never wavered from its target and he changed his mind.

'You you appear to have done very well for yourself, Madame de Sange. What is it you want from me? Money for some by-slip of that night? Damme but I don't see how you can tell which of us fathered your love-child '

A look of loathing came over her face.

'How dare you talk of love!' she cried in disgust. 'There was nothing but hate and violence on that night and I thank God He spared me a bastard from such a time!'

He looked perplexed.

'But if it is not a child what is it you want from me?'

'Did you think, sir, that if we should meet again I would let any of you go unpunished for what you did?'

''Twas nothing more than a little dalliance ahh!' He screamed and fell to his knees as the sword bit into his skin and he felt a trickle of warm blood running down his neck.

'Next time it will go deeper!' she promised, her voice low and quivering with anger. 'You must now realize how much I should like to drive this point through your throat right now it is only the fact that I need information from you that prevents me from killing you.'

He did not doubt her sincerity, and beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead, the colour ebbing and flowing from his cheeks.